"Yes, very nearly. After I saw to his funeral arrangements and sold off what I could, we were left with only forty pounds." She paused a moment and he saw her fingers nervously pleating the wool of her gown. Knight looked at the teapot. He said easily, "Will you pour?"

"Of course," said Lily, delighted to have something to do.

He watched her, admiring her gracefulness, and knew she was a lady, a lady bred bone-deep, a lady regardless of her lack of funds and alternatives at this point in time.

"I like only a spot of milk."

Her hands were shaking slightly and he felt a spurt of guilt. She was doubtless very tired, worried, frightened even that he would turn her and the children out into the street.

He said quickly, his voice deep and calm, "I will see to everything. Please don't concern yourself further. You should eat; then Mrs. Allgood will show you to your bedchamber. You and the children are perfectly safe with me. I'm not an Ugly Arnold, I swear it. I will take care of you." The instant the words were out of his mouth, he was appalled. What the devil had he promised?

Lily looked at him and said faintly, "Thank you, my lord."

He handed her a plate of cucumber sandwiches. "Here, Cuthbert does quite well with these. You're welcome. Tristan was my favorite cousin, even though we hadn't seen each other in over five years. I am sorry he died."

There came a knock on the door. "Yes?" Knight called.

Mrs. Allgood, looking on the edge of consternation, poked her head into the room. She was obviously laboring under considerable distress. "Forgive me for disturbing you, my lord, and you, Mrs. Winthrop, but your little girl is crying for you. She's afraid. It is a strange and new house for her."

Lily was on her feet in an instant. "Excuse me, my lord."

She walked quickly toward the door, seemed to remember herself, and turned. "Thank you. I think I shall see to the children, then go to bed. Tomorrow, my lord."

Knight had no time to rise before she was gone, Mrs. Allgood hurrying behind her. The door closed. He turned to look into the fireplace. The flames were sluggish now. He hoped she'd gotten warm enough. It was a chilly night, and the damp penetrated to one's very bones. He saw his copy of Candide on the seat of his leather chair. He frowned at it. What was it he'd been thinking? Oh, yes, that his life was perfect, that he was content, that he wouldn't change a thing.

Now, though, there were three children in his house and one very beautiful, very young widow.

He shook his head. Even if she'd been dowdy, he wouldn't have hesitated to assist her. Lily. It was a lovely name. Her eyes were a pale gray, he thought, but wasn't certain. Perhaps blue, rather. He would have to check in the morning.

Three children.

Now, that was something else. He knew nothing about children. He did know, however, that one didn't separate a mother from her offspring. He was struck again by the resemblance of the two boys' combined features to their father. Oh, damnation, Tris. Why, damn you? Why couldn't you have been more careful?

What if he hadn't been home when she and the children arrived? Surely Duckett would have admitted them. Then Knight remembered the several times he'd jested about children, Duckett within hearing.

Upstairs in a lovely guest bedchamber Lily was met by a sobbing Laura Beth, Theo and Sam hovering over their sister, looking about helplessly.

Mrs. Allgood made clucking noises. Lily said sincerely, "Thank you, Mrs. Allgood. I will see to them now. They will sleep in here with me. It's no trouble at all."

Mrs. Allgood didn't know what to do. Once Winthrop House had boasted a nursery on the third floor, but it had long ago been transformed into servants' quarters. There hadn't been children here in more years than she could count. Where to put the boys?

Lily knew her problem. "Perhaps there are two adjoining bedchambers? Tomorrow, if his lordship agrees, we can move into those. But for tonight, the boys can bundle up on the floor."

Mrs. Allgood was routed. She hurried off to have blankets fetched.

The moment the door had closed behind her, Laura Beth stopped crying. She gave Lily a self-satisfied grin.

"I thought something wasn't quite right with your dramatic squalling," Lily said, hands on hips. "Now-"

"It was an act," Theo said. "We wanted to make certain you were all right. Our cousin seemed to be a gentleman, but we couldn't be certain. You were alone with him, after all, and you know what happens when you're alone with men-"

Sam piped in, "He could have locked the door and thrown the key into the fireplace, then he-"

Lily held up her hand. "No, he was a perfect gentleman. Come along, all of you. Let's snuggle on the bed until Mrs. Allgood returns with the bedding."

"It was playacting," Laura Beth said, taking her place curled against Lily's breast. Theo and Sam sat with their legs crossed at the end of the bed.

"Well, you quite impressed me. Poor Mrs. Allgood, I believe she thought she'd damaged your sensibilities. It's a beautiful room," Lily continued, looking about for the first time at the soft blending of pale blues and creams. The bed was on a dais and covered with a wool counterpane of darker blue. The Aubusson carpet was cream-colored, the draperies a light blue.

"It's a girl's room," said Sam with a snort of disgust. "Soft and blurry."

Lily was too tired to do anything but smile. Where did they get their energy? She felt Laura Beth's hand fall and the small body go limp against her. One down, she thought, smothering a yawn.

"At least her thumb is out of her mouth," said Theo. "Sam's right, this is a girl's room."

"Yeck," said Sam.

"You're certain he will be honorable, Mama?" said Theo.

Lily took his hand and squeezed it. He and Sam had made a great game of calling her "Mama" at every opportunity upon their abrupt departure from Damson Farm. Now it seemed utterly natural. "Yes, I believe so. He was surprised, needless to say, for we did appear suddenly upon his doorstep. But he behaved with perfect propriety and courtesy. Ah, here is the bedding for you two."

As gently as she could, Lily lifted Laura Beth from her lap and covered her with a blanket. She thanked Mrs. Allgood, dismissal implicit in her tone. She and the boys spread the bedding upon the sinfully thick carpet. "You can undress after I douse the candles," she said and gave each of them a hug and a kiss. Not a clinging hug, and the lightest of pecks. They were boys, after all.

Within thirty minutes, Lily and her family were soundly asleep. Knight, still downstairs in the library, was staring at Mrs. Allgood. "What did you say?"

"I said, my lord, that all of them are in the same bedchamber. I took up more bedding for the boys."

"That is absurd. Have them moved immediately. The young woman is exhausted and needs her rest. Four people in one room, well-"

"It is what the lady wanted, my lord," said Mrs. Allgood firmly. She remembered the viscount from the age of three. His tone was nearing the same pitch. "We can straighten things out in the morning. Good night, my lord. If there is nothing else-"

"No, no, go to bed, Mrs. Allgood."

"I gather the lady and children will be remaining for a while?"

"I suppose so," Knight said. "Do you know anything about children, Mrs. Allgood?"

"Certainly, my lord. It's been a long time since my Gladys was a child, but she has two babies now and I see them every week."

Knight had no idea that Mrs. Allgood was a grandmother. He felt suddenly oddly disconnected. She'd been with him forever. He'd never before realized that she was a person outside his household as well as inside. "I see," was all he said.

"In the morning, Mr. Duckett and I will move them into adjoining bedchambers. There is nothing to concern yourself over."

She was letting him know, in the kindest way possible, that he should mind his own business. He was forced to smile. "All right. Tell Duckett he can have the food removed. Mrs. Winthrop didn't have much of a chance to eat."

"I shall. Good night, my lord."

Two.

Where the devil was she? It was ten o'clock in the morning and Knight was pacing in his library. He finally gave in and rang for Duckett.

"My lord?"

"Good God, do you have to slither about like a bloody ghost? You nearly scared the fingernails off my hand."

"My apologies, my lord. You wished something?"

"Yes. Where is Mrs. Winthrop? Half the morning is gone, and surely even she would be up and about by now and ready for her breakfast."

"I inquired earlier as to her whereabouts, my lord. Breakfast was sent up to her bedchamber. She wished-as a mother would, I'm sure-to stay with her children."

That certainly made sense, although it wasn't unduly flattering to him-her host, her savior, her protector in a cold, very hard world. "Send word that I wish to speak to her in the library."

"Yes, my lord."

"At her convenience, of course."

"Certainly you would have no wish to sound peremptory, my lord."

"Damn you, Duckett, you can keep your opinions to yourself."

"As you wish, my lord."

"You will be murdered in your bed, Duckett."

"I, my lord?" Dark eyebrows soared toward his bald pate.

"Yes, I shall have Stromsoe do it."

"Your valet, if I may venture to be so bold, my lord, hasn't the stomach for violence of any kind. Indeed, I saw him pale at the sight of a squashed bug."

"Oh, go away."

"The bug had just bitten him. Very curious."

"Out."

The viscount's message was delivered to Lily some three minutes later by Betty, an upstairs maid who kept bobbing curtsies as she repeated carefully and slowly, "Mr. Duckett says it's at your convenience, ma'am. His lordship ain't-aren't-really in no big 'urry, you know, it's just that he wishes to see you before too much more time passes into the future."

"Thank you, Betty. I shall come down immediately."

"What does he want to see you for?" Theo demanded. "That maid was strange," he added without skipping a beat. "Her speech made no real sense."

"And alone?" asked Sam, instantly contentious. "Why didn't he ask for all of us? I'll poke my fingers in his face, I will."

"He's not old," Laura Beth announced, taking her thumb out of her mouth.

"You are the most suspicious lot," Lily said, amused. "Doubtless he wishes to know what our plans are, or rather, what our plans are for him. I want you all to settle into your new bedchamber. Theo, please watch Laura Beth. Sam, please don't do anything horrible. All right?"

"Like what?" asked Sam with great interest.

Theo gave him one of his patented adult looks. "Like hanging knotted towels out the window with a message on the end saying you're being held a prisoner in the house, you loony."

"Oh, that kind of horrible."

"If that's the yardstick," Lily said, "I fear I am in some trouble. Just don't do anything to embarrass us and make his lordship want to boot us out of his house. I'll be back soon."

Lily made a quick visit to the ornate dressing-table mirror, patted an errant strand of hair into place, sighed at her pale cheeks and shadowed eyes, knew there was nothing to be done about it, and left the bedchamber.

She hadn't noticed that her large eyes were grayer than usual and darker with worry, but Knight did. He wanted to howl and curse, for he'd prayed devoutly that the incredibly beautiful creature of the night before would dissolve into an ordinary mother this morning. But it wasn't to be. She wasn't wearing anything fancy or alluring. Her gown was of pale gray muslin, with very few ruffles and no flounces at all, high-necked and high-waisted and long-sleeved, yet it still managed to smack him with the fullness of her breasts and the slender line of her torso. Her hair was pulled modestly back from her face, the result being that this style emphasized her high cheekbones, the slightly exotic slant of her brows, her delicate ears, and her narrow Roman nose.

She was the most delicious female he'd ever seen in his life and she was his cousin's widow, responsible for three children. He decided then and there that he would move her to Castle Rosse, along with the children, in the near future; that way his life could resume its placid and quite acceptable course. There was no doubt that she was an unwelcome storm in his shoals.

"My lord," Lily said, sweeping him a modest curtsy.

"Please call me Knight. We are related, you know."

"Then you must call me Lily."

"That's an unusual name."

"My father, Francis Tremaine-he was Baron Markham, you know-well, he had few claims to virtue, but one of them was being knowledgeable about all kinds of plants and flowers. I was christened Lily Ophelia long before I was born."

"A reference to Shakespeare is preferable, I should say, to Lily Hydrangea or Lily Buttercup."

"I added Lily Gorse Bush to the list long ago."

"And if you'd been a boy?"

"That is enough to make one pause, isn't it?"

"As in Ugly Arnold Yew Bush?"

"I like that," she said, chuckling. "My brother, had there been one, would have been christened Birch Hawthorne Tremaine. What can one say to that?" And she chuckled again, at her sire's vagaries, Knight supposed. Hearing her voice, seeing her smile, he felt as if the sun had burst through on a dreary cloudy day and shone over him and through him, warming him. Then he realized who her father was. Tremaine-seventh Baron Markham. Good God, he thought, the man had flown England some years before, head over arse in debt, leaving his ancestral home in Dorset, if Knight remembered aright, leaving everything, in fact. So he had gone to Brussels.

With Lily?

"And your mother?"

"She died when I was fourteen years old. She wasn't a flower, but rather a plain, very straightforward Jane."

"If she looked like you, there was nothing plain about her."